


Pieces

by Haberdasher



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: e170 Recollection (The Magnus Archives), Episode: e186 Quiet (The Magnus Archives), Established Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gen, Hurt Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has a Bad Time, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Needs a Hug, Loneliness, M/M, Memory Loss, POV Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Spoilers for Episode: e186 Quiet (The Magnus Archives), Transcript Format, transcript
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27549874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberdasher/pseuds/Haberdasher
Summary: Jon ends up somewhere unfamiliar with his mind fighting him every step of the way as he tries to put the pieces together regarding where he now is and how he ended up there.(Or, an AU in which Jon became trapped within Martin’s domain.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 138





	Pieces

[CLICK]

[A SOFT BUT STEADY RAIN FALLS]

**JON**

God, this place is dreary. And boring. Not sure which of the two is worse.

...of all the places in all the world, why did I end up _here_?

[BRIEF BURST OF STATIC]

Wait a second... that’s new.

[FOOTSTEPS ON DIRT, APPROACHING]

**JON**

Is that a _tape recorder_?

[MORE FOOTSTEPS. JON’S NEXT WORDS ARE SLIGHTLY LOUDER]

**JON**

Can’t remember the last time I saw one of _those_. Though then I can’t remember... can’t remember...

[A BITTER LAUGH]

**JON**

Can’t remember a lot of things right now.

Good lord, this thing’s probably older than I am, isn’t it? What’s next, a floppy disc? The screech of connecting to dial-up Internet?

[A MOMENT OF SILENCE, SAVE FOR THE STILL-FALLING RAINDROPS]

**JON**

Just... just the tape recorder then? A-alright. I’ll take it with me, I suppose. It’s better than nothing. Marginally.

At least it helps break up the scenery. Not a lot of variety here, is there?

Actually, now that I’m, I’m holding it in my hand, something about this feels... right? No, not _right_. Familiar, maybe?

[A DISGRUNTLED SIGH]

**JON**

It’s probably nothing.

Everything seems to be nothing here... or, or to slip away, when I try to hold onto it... how am I supposed to put the puzzle together when I can’t even keep hold of the pieces?

But it didn’t... it wasn’t always like this. I can remember that much, at least. There are places other than this one, other than this endless field of gray grass...

Grass isn’t even supposed to be gray, is it? I suppose a bit of color would liven things up too much. Can’t have _that_.

Everything’s gray here.

[FINGERS SOFTLY TAPPING AGAINST PLASTIC AS JON CONTINUES TO SPEAK]

**JON**

I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It’s not like you’ve got a better shot of making it out of here than I do. And you’re probably not even working, or, or turned-

Oh, it _is_ switched on. Been listening this whole time, then? Pick up any juicy secrets?

Good luck with that. If I’ve got any secrets, even I don’t know them.

Surprised the rain hasn’t fried the poor thing already. Unless it’s as much a part of this place as the rain is...

[SLOW PACING]

**JON**

It’s actually kind of nice, getting to talk to you. I mean, you’re probably not even picking half of it up, between the rain and- and all the static and such, there’s a reason people don’t use tape recorders anymore, but...

At least I can pretend someone will listen to this eventually. I know nobody’s out there to listen to my rambling otherwise. I think that’s... that’s the point of this place, somehow. All this space, and nobody but myself to occupy it.

One man against the world.

[WEARY SIGH]

**JON**

It hurts, but it’s... it’s a soft kind of hurt.

Maybe I should describe it to you, in case you actually do make it out of here without me. Or in case somebody else makes it in here without me. Hell, for all I know, I’m surrounded by people, and something just made it so I can’t perceive any of them.

**JON (STATEMENT)**

I am alone in-

**JON**

No, that sounds wrong somehow... maybe I’ll try third person? Give it a bit more... distance. Emotionally.

This place is all about distance, after all, isn’t it?

**JON (STATEMENT)**

There is a man who is alone in a field. His name is... is... is not important. The man himself might be, perhaps, but- but rarely to the right people, or, or for the right reasons. It’s never a good feeling to be judged by your worst moments, by your deepest regrets, even if the one judging ends up thinking you did a great job by the end of it.

Part of him is used to being alone, to pushing people away, to acting like what they already think you are if it’ll get them not to look more closely. But it was always _his_ decision before.

There are no decisions to be made here, in this empty field full of grass and rain and wind.

[THE RAIN PICKS UP]

**JON (STATEMENT)**

It is cold and wet and dreary and so, so lonely. It is one thing to choose such a life, to know you could always seek out warmth if you so chose but always choosing otherwise. It is another thing entirely to be stranded within such a life, to be unable to find a single source of heat, to be cut off from any potential shelter.

The man isn’t sure how long he has been here. Hours? Weeks? Years? Time blends together seamlessly here, with no sun visible from beyond the layer of gray rainclouds. It has been a long time, at any rate. Long enough that he gave up crying for help some time ago.

There is nobody around to hear his cries; he knows that much now. No matter how loudly he screams, all that is there to hear is the rain and the field and the gray. And the louder he screams, the colder he gets inside, with no way of warming up ever again.

He remembers being warm before, distantly. He remembers colors besides black and white and shades of gray. The details of the memories are fleeting, but the sense of them is clear.

He had once been to parties--for a birthday, perhaps, or another holiday? There had been cake and jokes and smiles, and everything was dry and warm. But he was always on the outskirts, wasn’t he? Afraid to get too close. Afraid to let anyone see him and all his flaws.

That fear, at least, is gone now. His flaws will be forgotten by time, certainly, but so will the rest of him.

The funny thing is, though he never wanted others to learn about him, he wanted to learn about others, especially those on the outskirts like himself, those who could easily be lost to history without him. He wanted to know all about the world, to solve as many of its mysteries as he could.

Now he is lost within one of those same mysteries himself. He might say he _was_ one of those same mysteries, but a mystery requires somebody knowing about it, caring about it, wanting to solve it. He’s not sure he’s remembered enough by the outside world even for that much.

He remembers... he remembers his grandmother’s basket of yarn, always filled with colorful little bundles--this one a deep green, that a muted purple, another a vivid yellow.

Even then, though, he was near all of this, but not actually part of it. She wouldn’t let him touch the yarn, you see, even once he was an adult, because she still only ever saw the little boy she took in so long ago.

“Don’t fuss with that, Jon.” “I don’t want you tangling those up, Jon.” “You’d only prick your finger, Jon.”

**JON**

[Unsure] ...that’s my name, then, isn’t it? Jon?

It feels wrong. It feels too... ordinary. People named Jon aren’t supposed to- to deal with things like this.

Or maybe they are. Maybe there’s thousands of us, or millions, or billions, each with our own endless field to explore. Maybe I just think I’m special because I happen to be the one looking at _this_ one.

...though that doesn’t explain the tape recorder.

**JON (STATEMENT)**

The man--Jon--he only touched the yarn once, after she was gone, and by then it was ratty and covered in dust and Jon had never learned how to make use of all those pretty colors, so he just gave them away.

He had color in his life, and he gave it all away, just like that.

**JON**

Bit on the nose, that.

Unless it’s intentional. Unless I _chose_ this place, chose to stay in this gray field, just like I chose to get rid of that yarn back then.

It’s not a nice place to be, sure, but... but maybe the other choices were worse.

...wait.

[STATIC RISES]

**JON**

No, no, I- I made a choice, and it _wasn’t_ this. I- there was another place like this, but it was a, a beach instead of a field, stretching on and on... and I got out.

I got out, and I wasn’t alone. There was- was someone with me. Who was it?

Maybe I can...

**JON (STATEMENT)**

The man had been alone like this before--alone not by choice but by sheer lack of options, a small speck on a seemingly-endless landscape. There, too, he had ended up covered in water, though then it had been fog and stinging sea salt that filled the air.

Jon had gone in there as a choice, but not because he was giving in to the isolation, because he was ready to be consumed by that vast and uncaring landscape. He had gone in because of... someone. Someone that he wanted to save from the same loneliness that had filled so much of his own life. Someone that he cared deeply about.

Someone that he loved, though he had never admitted as much out loud back then.

And he--this, this someone, this other man that he loved--he had started out gray, too, when they met there. But then he- he looked at Jon, and Jon looked at him, and all the color returned to him, the only patch of color in a world of gray-

**JON**

...I... I hadn’t noticed, but... I’ve turned gray too now. I remember my skin being brown, but now it’s just a, a darkish sort of gray. Scars are still there, but they’re gray too. All of me’s gone gray.

But so was, was... I can see him, now, in my mind’s eye. That bright red hair, all those freckles, but- his _name_ -

[realization] Martin. That was it, wasn’t it? That _is_ it. His, his name is Martin, and if Martin could escape, if he could get all his color back, then- then so can I.

I just need to _think_. To... to put the pieces together...

My name is Jon- Jonathan Sims. I didn’t choose to be here. I had that choice once, and I chose differently. I chose to save myself, to, to save Martin. And I’m here because... because...

[STATIC RISES]

**JON**

Because _he’s_ here. He- he wanted to come here. This place is, is connected to him. Martin wanted to see it for himself. And so he entered without me, but he’s here--I can’t see him, but he’s _here_ , and he won’t leave without me, I know he won’t.

[stronger] My name is Jon Sims, and Martin will come back for me, will find me, because Martin is part of this place, but he’s also a part of me now. I love him, and I trust him, and I know, I _know_ he will look for me once he’s realized I’ve gone missing-

Martin, I- Martin, can you hear me? Have you heard any of this?

Martin, I’m here, I want to be with you, I remember you-

**MARTIN**

[distant] Jon?

**JON**

Martin? Martin, I’m right here!

[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]

**MARTIN**

Jesus, Jon, I thought-

**JON**

Don’t worry, it’s fine, I’m- I’ll be fine.

[RAIN IN THE BACKGROUND QUIETS DOWN] 

**MARTIN**

God, I’m sorry.

**JON**

It’s alright, Martin. It’s not your fault.

**MARTIN**

This whole place is, though, isn’t it?

**JON**

I know you... [inhale] You didn’t want this. Didn’t want _any_ of this.

**MARTIN**

But it still hurt you. And I’m sorry you had to go through that.

[FABRIC RUSTLES]

**JON**

The important thing is it- it’s over now. You didn’t forget about me. I thought maybe everybody forgot about me.

**MARTIN**

I would _never_ forget about you, Jon.

**JON**

Is that a promise?

[SOFT LAUGH, MUFFLED BY FABRIC]

**MARTIN**

It can be.

[CLICK]

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, consider following me on tumblr at [haberdashing](https://haberdashing.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
